


The Pack Survives

by Whreflections



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles about Owen and his raptors.  These could be all over the place, ranging from before the movie to after, though all are set in an AU me and my friend devised which eventually crosses over with the Leverage world.  </p><p>Mostly, though, this is an outlet for my intense raptor feels, so expect a lot of emotion centered on Owen and his sharp babies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> 01/ Missing Scene (in which I explore what would have happened if one of the raptors in the final fight hadn't died so quickly)
> 
> Warnings for this chapter- Canonical Character Death (Delta, if you want specifics), Angst

There’s something distinct about the distress call of a raptor, something haunting even to ears that don’t know what it means.  He’s seen it in the guests, seen the way they stop and reach out toward the glass, back toward each other.  It’s instinct, the desire to touch what’s yours to reassure yourself of their safety.  So often he’s heard instinct written off as wholly chemical and wooden, detached from emotion, but that’s never been what he’s found.  It’s hardwired in, sure, but love, love is chemical too. 

It’s no surprise, then, that even with his ears ringing from the sounds of the battle he can hear her calling, even faint and weak as she is.  Her fear is something he knows, something that’s pulled him toward the sound since the day she was born.  His breath catches in his chest, painfully sharp as he curses, swallows and tries again. 

“Delta!  _Delta_!”  They have done this before, when it was just a game.  She was small, hiding in cabinets and under ferns but she would call and he would find her.  His favorite part had always been the moment he found her, when she would chirp and leap onto his boot to cling to his ankle.  Whatever had frightened her would be forgotten with him to cling to and she’d chatter joyfully, little claws pinprick sharp even through the thick socks he always wore when they were small. 

Back then, her whole head fit in the palm of his hand.  He could lean down and cup her chin, stroke his thumb along her cheek and tell her she was safe, feel the vibration in her throat as she rattled off something that wasn’t a purr and wasn’t a growl, happy raptor sounds, as chilling as they were beautiful. 

Now, it’s all she can do to call to him a little louder, just loud enough that he can follow, find her broken body in a pile of rubble.  She _is_ broken; there’s no doubt about it.  She’s underneath too much, bent in ways she shouldn’t...she can’t get up, but it doesn’t stop her from trying when she sees him, and for that he runs faster, skids to the ground and skins his knees open on rough pavement. 

“Shhhhh, shhh, hey, don’t move, don’t move.  Be still, sweetheart, okay just—“  She chatters, leans her head into his thigh and Owen stops to catch his breath.  He’s her alpha, her strength and her safest place to hide.  If he cries, she’ll die frightened.  There’s fuck all left that he can do for her, but he can manage that, if he tries.  He breathes, strokes down a patch on her neck unmarred by blood until he feels a little steadier, a little stronger.  “Hey, that’s my girl.  That’s my good girl.” 

Delta chirps, butts her nose into the palm of his left hand.  When she was still small enough, he’d pick her up when she did that; he remembers.  He wonders if she does, wishes he’d never thought it. 

Behind them he can hear Claire’s shoes on the pavement, the uneven gasp in her voice before she speaks.  “Is…is there anything—“

“She’s fine.  She’s gonna be just fine.”  Even if the vet were still here, there’s not a damn thing she could do but put her out of her misery, but his children learned well.  Any word he could use for her doctor, she would know.  Know, and be frightened.  He’d rather lie. 

She blinks up at him, all love and trust and pain, and he blinks back, hums and tugs her head further into his lap, far enough to tuck her nose just under the hem of his shirt.  “Shh, shh, that’s my Delta girl.  Just close your eyes, little lady.  You’ll feel better when you wake up.” 

He closes his and she’s six months again, lean and lithe and too quick, darting through the woods like a flash of bronze, skidding to a stop before him with her nostrils flaring.  He laughs and she headbutts his stomach, still young enough not to test him, to see him as immutable. 

When he started the program, they’d told him the estimated lifespan of a raptor would hover around 20 to 30 years.  It had sounded like such a long time.  Charlie was seven.  Echo was three.  She’s five, and he’s not ready.  He’s not fucking ready at all.  


	2. In Memoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 02/ Post Movie, Reopened Park AU
> 
> Chapter Warnings: None that I can think of, other than referenced death and language. Angst.

Everything is new, these days.  New rules, new system, new buildings, new owner.  Some of it’s great and some of it he doesn’t give two shits about, but this shiny new badge that proclaims him both Raptor Keeper and Chief Animal Welfare Consultant is an _excellent_ change because it opens doors everywhere, literally.  Hey, he might have a couple disgruntled employees trailing after him babbling on about meetings and etiquette, but he doesn’t _have_ to listen.  Not when he can let himself in. 

Sound drifts out from between the double doors, muffled until he hits them.  “If that’s everything for the afternoon, then this meeting—“

“Yeah, sit down; it’s not everything.”  Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of Claire near the head of the table.  There’s a quirk of what looks like an exasperated smile tugging at her lips but he can’t really look; he didn’t come here because of her. 

Whatshisname raises his grey eyebrows, grey suit crinkling as he smooths his hands down the calendar in front of him.  “Mr. Grady, while you are as a senior staff member encouraged to attend these meetings, I do have to ask that you arrive on _time_.  Even halfway through would be preferable to—“

“I’ve got work; I’m sure almost everyone else here does too.  I read the e-mails.”  Most of the time, when he isn’t too busy.  Some of them Claire summarizes, complete with a lecture on why he _really_ should be reading them himself.  Owen steps up to the closest empty chair that’s most likely his, leans forward to splay his hands on the wood.  “I asked for three things when Nadira Masrani called me back in to help you get this place back up and running.  You remember what those three things were?” 

Grey Suit swallows.  “My client—“

“Oh I’m sure your _client_ has the best of intentions and I’d sure as hell rather deal with her right now because I think she’d be _really_ interested to know you’re not holding up your end of the bargain.” 

“ _Owen_.”  If he can hear Claire hiss at him, he’s pretty sure the rest of them can, too.  He doesn’t mind really, but it’s not about to stop him either. 

“We are establishing hands-on keeper positions everywhere we can but with the number of species present in the park that may take—“

“Look I didn’t say I wasn’t pleased with the progress; I’m sayin’—“

“Based on projected estimates, the egg should be ready and in incubation within—“

“She’ll hatch within 60 days; there’s not a damn thing you can tell me about that process I don’t know.”  Intimately; he’s lived through it four times.  The reminder is a pain in his chest, sharp and sudden, fuel on the fire of why he’s here.  “We’ve got the monument for InGen.  We’ve got a sculpture out in the field for the herd the indominus took out.  Now we’ve got a monument for the rex and the mosasaur and they’re still _alive_.  I was promised a memorial for my raptors.” 

“If you’d come to last week’s meeting, Mr. Grady, you’d have heard—“

Owen’s palm slams hard against the table, enough that his hand stings and everyone but Claire jumps.  She’s harder to startle, these days.  “A _complete_ memorial.  I read the proposal; you only listed two names.”  Delta and Charlie, and it hurt to read them, but it hurt more to see Echo’s name missing. 

“Given the…evidence that suggests that particular animal was killed in an attack on InGen staff—“

“Who fired on her _first_!  She wouldn’t have even _been_ out there if not for those jackasses!”  There’s a small voice, always, that reminds him it was his fault, too.  Sure, InGen forced his hand but he led them, right into the fire.  It’s not quite like lambs to slaughter, not with what his girls were capable of, what they _did_ , but it’s close enough to keep him up nights.  When he dreams about that encounter in the woods, it’s not the men’s screams he hears, it’s theirs, it’s _hers_.  The youngest, the most easily led. 

Grey Suit at least has the decency to look uncomfortable.  “The board thought…it seemed in poor taste.  You have to understand that.” 

“What I _understand_ is that InGen saw fit to send a team that included four innocent animals into a fight we were not fully informed for.  The result was a disaster, all around.  Look, I’m not sayin’ they didn’t hurt anyone; they did.  But I _am_ saying if you wanna blame someone for that, don’t blame them, and certainly don’t blame a _juvenile predator_ for acting in self-defense.  Hell, if you wanna blame someone blame me, but her name belongs on that list.  All or nothing.” 

He almost threatens to walk if they fuck it up, stops just short as he realizes that might actually weaken his position.  They know he won’t; whatever they do to him he won’t leave Blue, won’t leave the baby even now in development in the lab two floors down.  Righteous anger is all he’s got going for him here; all he can do is hope to maintain it. 

Claire’s hand closes around his wrist, so sudden and cool he almost jerks away. 

“What Mr. Grady is trying to say is that _all_ three raptors died due to InGen negligence.  I believe we can all agree on that?  Perhaps discuss this next week?” 

She’s better at this than he is, infinitely so.  Later, if she gets it fixed, he’ll probably be more grateful.  Right now he’s still running to high, too hot.  He pulls back slow, flexes his hands. 

“Just get it done right.” 

He means it, though every time over the last six weeks he’s tried to ask himself what good a memorial is gonna do he doesn’t have a ready answer.  It won’t make him feel a damn bit better, won’t change the fact that he led them out into the mouths of monsters.  It won’t make Blue stop shying every time a guard steps out on the damn catwalk. 

It will, however, force the park to tell some measure of the truth.  It’s not enough, but maybe it’s something.  


	3. Future Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03/ Post Movie, Reopened Park AU
> 
> Chapter Warnings: None that I can think of, other than referenced death and language. Angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so, so much for all of your kudos and comments! The response to this has been amazing and so much more than I expected and I really am very grateful and happy you're enjoying these, :D

He should be sleeping.  His countdown to projected hatching time was up six hours ago, but as far as he’s heard she hasn’t started chirping in there yet, and they know better than to wait to tell him.  He won’t be sleeping much while he waits for her to make her way out into the world so he might as well be catching a little now.  All of that is logic, common sense. 

Actual sleep is elusive.  It’s easier to be here, arms hooked through the rails as he watches the woods for a sign of Blue.  Shit, she’s probably already tucked herself into her nest, probably been out a half hour at least.  Sometimes, he thinks she’s smarter than he is. 

There’s the rustle of grass behind him, the uneven sound of high heels on turf.  He smiles just before her hand brushes his back, tilts his head to see her.  “Hey.”

“Hey.”  Claire brushes something out of his hair with a familiar ease that hurts a little, short and sharp and quickly washed away.  They tried to make it work, hell someday maybe they’ll try again but he kind of hopes they don’t.  They fit better like this, a friendship forged in fire.  He said as much to her once, called them old comrades in arms.  Claire rolled her eyes and told him never to call her ‘comrade’ again.  For that, he’s probably said it a hundred times. 

She turns to lean with her back against the fence like he’s told her not to and nods toward him.  “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.” 

He decides to let the fence thing slide.  After all, they are still on the outside of the containment area.  He shrugs instead, tilts up his wrist to give her a glimpse of the screen of his Apple watch, irritatingly blank.  “Just on Foxtrot watch.  She should start peeping in there any minute now.” 

“If you’re on Foxtrot watch, shouldn’t you be down at the lab?” 

“Shouldn’t you face forward?  It’d be a shame if Blue cut your hair.”

“Hilarious.”  And yet she looks over her shoulder, like Blue’s somehow vaulted into the space behind them.  Owen turns away to hide his grin, though by the light kick to his shin he’d say he was too slow. 

“Seriously, Owen…”  Her arm nudges his, gentle but insistent.  “You don’t look…I know the egg is a little late but I spoke with the vet this morning and she assured me—“

“Nah, Foxy’s fine.  She’s just takin’ her time.”  The nickname rolls off his tongue easier than he expects, though he shouldn’t be surprised.  He’s spoke to her every time he’s been to visit, eager to make his voice the most familiar thing she knows.  A mother raptor would chirp and rattle to her as she turned the eggs, make her feel safe, already treasured.  Murmuring to her every day when he checks the incubator is the best he can do.  It seemed to work with the others at least; Charlie was the first one he’d tried speaking to before hatching and she hadn’t hissed when she came out like Blue had, she’d…

 _Shit_.  His eyes burn and he blinks, laughs to cover it, shake his throat clear.  “I don’t know.  It’s all just so familiar, you know?  I mean I’ve been gettin’ everything ready for her, pulling out the baby shit and there’s the gloves with the teeth marks from that time Delta bit me and that shirt Echo loved that she shook till she tore it apart and I know you don’t know any of this; we weren’t—  You weren’t here but—“

Claire’s hand on his arm is careful, her squeeze just firm enough to stop him.  “But it’s a lot of memories.  I understand.  I mean not…not exactly but…going to Madison with Karen, helping her pack up her things before the divorce…the things we keep hold memories.  I know.” 

Yeah, that’s exactly it.  His memories of the three he lost are all over this place and their bones are in the ground a good fifteen years too soon at least and he’s got a new little one coming and it’s been well over a year since he lost them but right now it seems almost as surreal as it did when he first led Blue back to an empty paddock. 

“What are you thinking?”  She means well, her voice whisper soft. 

Owen shakes his head. 

“Owen—“

“I’ve talked about it; I mean what else can I say?  I should’ve protected them and I didn’t; I have to live with that.  I’ll figure it out.” 

“I just think—“

“All I can do is do it right this time.  That’s all I’ve got.”  Well, not all.  The memories matter and he wants to keep them, most of the time, when the guilt settles enough to bear them.  Owen sighs, tilts his forehead a second against cool metal before he pushes away from the fence entirely.  “See, here’s the thing, I was _learning_ before, one at a time.  No one had ever done this before and the project of seein’ how smart they were, how close I could get to them, we were just in the first phase.  I had plans that—I’ve _still_ got plans.” 

Plans that he knows now are utterly founded, that don’t seem like impossible pipe dreams.  When he’d gotten them used to the sound of the motorcycle as babies, he’d only _dreamed_ he might one day ride out with them.  Granted, he’d imagined it far differently but the point was, on that much at least, they’d come through with flying colors and he’d have sworn they weren’t ready for it.  If anything good came out of that whole disaster, it was catching a glimpse of just how far he might could take this if he _really_ tried. 

“You’ve got _plans_?”  She’s not incredulous; only curious.  He’d anticipated talking to her about this over a boardroom table sometime, but curious is good.  He can work with that and hell, maybe it’s better like this anyway.  She’s worried about him right now; he didn’t ask for that but maybe it’ll help her listen. 

“Yeah, I do.  See, I was learning how to bond with them before, how to teach them, what works and what doesn’t, but I’ve got it now and I know how to do this.  I know I _can_ do this, more than I ever dreamed at first.”  Totally not true, but also not the point.  The truth has turned out to be pretty much _exactly_ what he dreamed for, but she doesn’t have to know that.  She’d have called him crazy.  Shit, she already thought he was crazy.  “We’re talkin’ about ways to bring in visitors that are actually ethical, right?  Now the already love the raptor show, but I can make it better.  I can go in with them, do a show on the ground, shit if we build the right kind of tract of woods I could _hunt_ with them, do live search drills—“  He’s getting too excited, talking too fast.  He takes a breath, reins himself in.  “InGen wanted to treat the raptors like machines.  I say we show ‘em off as _animals_ , make people love them for what they are.  They’re wild, and they’re dangerous, but they’re also brilliant, and they’re as capable of forming a bond as a lion or a tiger.  I’d say moreso, but I’m biased.”

“You are; you’re biased.”

“I know.”

“You’re also _insane_.”  So she says, but she hasn’t said she won’t back him.  And, she’s still smiling. 

“Tell you what, stay right here.  I want to show you something.”  He hits the door open before she can protest, slips in and buzzes it closed behind him.  Most of the crew’s gone home but there’s two men up top and he calls to them, just loud enough to carry.  “Goin’ in guys.” 

There’s no response beyond muffled sounds of assent, followed by a sound from Claire behind him that sounds like she’s trying not to laugh.  “You’ve been doing this a lot, haven’t you?”

“I’m the only pack mate she’s got left; she’s lonely.”  The same goes for him, but it’s not really him he’s worried about.  These are consequences she never should have had to bear. 

“You don’t have approval for this.”

Owen buzzes the door open, twirls back around to flash Claire a grin.  “Wasn’t that supposed to be a question?”

“No, I know you— Owen!  Your back is to the—“

“Oh relax.”  Inside the gate he whistles, quick and sharp.  “Heya, Blue!  Up and at ‘em!” 

He counts, only makes it to four seconds before he hears her coming, six before she makes a fantastic leap out of the undergrowth to come to a skidding stop in front of him, tail whipping.  Behind him Claire gasps, says something that’s probably half panicked he ignores in favor of focusing on his girl.  He stops her with his hand, palm out, only breaks posture when she does.  When her tension eases so does his, shoulders sloping a little as he turns his hand over to beckon her forward. 

“There’s my girl.  C’mere, to me.”  He has to admit if only to himself, he’s a little nervous.  He’s never done this with an audience, but he’s been working with her damn near every day for months and it shows—there’s no hesitation in her as she skitters forward, none at all. 

She butts her head up under his hand, chitters when he strokes the bridge of her nose.  She rubs all the way up his arm like she did when she was little, like she hadn’t done for ages until he thought to be bold enough to let her get so close again.  Her head comes to rest against his shoulder, tucked down in submission, the rumbling in her throat ratcheting louder when he rubs at the arch of her neck. 

“That’s right, Blue.  That’s right.  Good girl.” 

“Holy _shit_.”  He doesn’t dare look back at Claire to see the look that must come with that, but he does laugh. 

“It won’t take me a disaster to get Foxy doin’ this, trust me.  It’s like I said, I know what I’m doing this time around.  Think you can get me my approval?” 

“I…can get you a psychiatrist.” 

“You hear that, Blue?  You see what I have to put up with?”  She chatters, jerks her head up from his armpit so quick her nose knocks against his chin.  He bites his tongue, tastes blood and smiles. 


	4. Blue's Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 04/ Pre-Movie
> 
> Warnings- Some blood, probably some language.

His first charge greets the world with her nose.  It probably says something, or a lot of things, that the first thought in his head when he sees her twisting her snout in frustration is how absolutely _adorable_ her frustration is.  Her muzzle’s trapped by the tight fit of the hole she’s punched in the shell and he can already see she’s angry, irritable at the constraint. 

He laughs, harder when the whole egg twitches with her effort as she tries to yank herself free.  The sound catches her curiosity—he can see it in the flare of her little nostrils, the utter stillness where a moment before she’d been in constant twitchy motion.  He’d be the first to admit he’s more student of raptor behavior than expert at this point, but he’s listened to enough recorded calls to know that the sound she makes in answer isn’t distress or even a welcome, just straight up irritation. 

“Hey, you got yourself into this.  You coulda broke through with your nose and pulled with those claws, but you just had to keep pushing.”  Because he can’t resist, he reaches out and strokes the bridge of her nose with one finger.  The rattle in her throat is probably meant to be a growl of disapproval, but she can’t quite hit a low enough pitch.  It’s offkey, stilted and muffled, and Owen grins as he pulls his hand away.  “Alright, alright.  You figure it out.  I’ll be right here when you do.” 

Two hours later, she’s wriggled a hole big enough to free her jaws again, big enough to turn her head and look at him for the first time. 

Four hours later her forearms hang free.  Owen’s eyes are fixed on her progress, his breath shallow, heartrate quick.  For all his talk and all his plans, no one knows that this won’t end in disaster.  He’s either looking at a friend or the dealer of his death and there’s something fascinating about that.  He should probably feel more fear than he does, and for half a second when he hears her larger hind claws scrabbling at the shell he feels a flash of it…

But then she’s tumbling out, falling to the table only to draw back against the only safe thing she knows with a hiss.  Her eyes are wide with fear and shock at the light, her tail curled tight around wobbly feet and tapping claws.  A stripe of brilliant blue runs down either side of her back, dazzling in the harsh light and drawing so much attention to her he wonders if that’s the lizard in her genes showing—a wild hatchling wouldn’t be safe like this.  Not for five minutes.  Her hiss falters, mouth hanging slightly open like some bizarre parody of a panting dog.  It’s clearly a fear response, her little chest heaving with exhaustion and terror and still she stares him down, absurdly tiny, impossibly brave. 

Owen reaches out to her with deliberation, careful not to startle her as he curls his fingers around the slope of her back.  She jerks and spits, turns her head so sharp to grab his wrist it makes him gasp but she’s not biting down, not in earnest.  There’s blood oozing out around her teeth, but that’s inconsequential.  Her eyes are still terrified and it doesn’t hurt, not really. 

“None of that, Blue.  You don’t scare me, kid.”  Whether it was true five minutes ago or not is irrelevant; it’s true now.  He may be bleeding, but he can see the panic starting to fade from her eyes into something he’s not quite ready to define.  Whatever it is, she _feels_.  Not that he ever doubted she would, really, but the proof is all he needs.  He can work with her.  They can figure it out together. 

“I thought we agreed on Bravo?”

Caught up in her, he’d almost forgotten the researcher behind him.  He just manages not to jerk, a good thing because there’s still teeth latched lightly into the base of his palm.  “We did, but her name’s Blue.  She’s no Bravo; I mean look at her.” 

Maybe she can feel the affection in his voice, maybe it’s something in the way he’s watching her.  Hell, maybe on an instinctive level she’s impressed he didn’t flinch at being bit.  Whatever makes her ease up, all he knows is that the chirp she makes once her mouth isn’t full of his skin has to be one of the best sounds he’s ever heard.  Quick and soft, inquisitive, hopeful. 

He strokes her cheek with his thumb, smiles when she nuzzles into his bleeding palm.  “Hey, that’s it.  That’s it, Blue.  We’re gonna be just fine you and me, you’ll see.”

“Mr. Grady, if you’d like to bandage your hand I can take over for the first feeding.”

“Oh absolutely not.  It’ll clot; I’ll feed her myself.”  Now, and in two hours, and for the rest of her life.    


End file.
